Mirrorbound
by Falsetto
Summary: Long before the war against the humans, Nuada was fighting in one of a different kind. Nuada/Nuala


**A/N: **Hello and welcome to my exploration of the incestuous tension between Nuada and Nuala. This fic literally _attacked_ me and wouldn't leave me alone until I started writing it (oh, who am I kidding, I'm still being terrorised...), so here you have the first chapter with more to come. Minors are discouraged on account of sexual content.

* * *

**Mirrorbound**

**One**

She was wearing blue. She always looked so beautiful in blue.

Nuada's eyes, the same colour of autumn leaves as hers, roamed over her slender, somehow fragile frame with century old longing. He felt her discomfort as if it was his own and tried to tear his gaze away, but was constantly hit by his own emotions reflected from her mind. She was a lens concentrating the rays of his desire to a burning point aimed straight at his heart, and he couldn't escape.

_Nuala._

She looked up from the book she was reading, unwillingly answering the call he had no chance of leaving unuttered. They were _both_ trapped.

"Please…" a whisper, sweet to his ears in spite of the rejection he could sense within it. Please go, she was saying, please stop.

"And where would you have me go, sweet sister?"

He went close to her where she perched on a windowsill like a bird on a tree branch and cupped her face in his hands. She didn't stir, and he could sense how his hands felt on her. They were strong, and warm.

"Is there a place where we can be free of one another? If there is, please point me at it and I will go, and be rid of this curse."

His grip tightened as he spoke, and he felt from the pain in his own jaws that he was hurting her somewhat. He didn't care.

"Who can I love, but you? How can I feel any affection for another, when always I feel what _you _feel too, and your feelings are those of indifference, or maybe friendship? And on those rare occasions where I _do_ feel desire, how can I act upon it, knowing that you will unwillingly be there in the bed with me? I can't even pleasure myself, for all your shame in having to share in it."

She was afraid. He was trembling with her anxiousness, and to seek and give comfort he let go of her face and drew her to his chest instead in a tight embrace. The book fell forgotten to the floor with a clatter and her arms encircled him, as she shared and was overcome by the same need.

"If there is a way that you know of that can shield me from you, then show me how. I beg of you, teach me, for I love you too well to cause you such grief as this."

He could feel her tears staining his cheeks as they fell from both of their eyes.

"I know of no way to save us," she sobbed, "we hide what we can, and to my knowledge that is the only refuge that has been given us."

"Then I will try harder."

He looked out the window, at the moonlit garden and the forest beyond it, and let go of his sister. Tenderly he stroked her cheek, then planted the most chaste of kisses on her forehead. They both felt it burn.

"Go to sleep, sister dear, and may I not trouble your dreams."

He didn't wait for a response, but spun around in a move so graceful it looked as if he was inviting his sister to dance, and left.

* * *

To the stables he went, seeking company that would not judge him. He opened the door to the loose-box of Banning, the sorrel stallion he'd helped into this world with his own hands. He'd taken a shortcut through a grazing field on one of his many wanderings and chanced upon a birthing mare. She was obviously having some difficulty, so he helped her. The grateful farmer, whose best ploughing-horse the prince had most likely saved, gave up the foal as a gift of gratitude.

When asked what he wanted the foal to be called, Nuada's eyes caught on the yellowish mane and tail of the newborn animal, and subsequently he chose a name meaning 'Blond child.'

A true companion, Banning was more of the 'sturdy and enduring' type than the faster, lighter horses most often used by elven warriors, but Nuada loved him and could not be persuaded to use a more 'suitable' mount.

"Hello there, old friend," he said, scratching the horse's wither with brisk, circular movements. "Fancy a midnight run?"

Banning whickered quietly, and Nuada managed a weak smile. "Thought you might."

He took his time with the preparations, refusing to let his impatience compromise the care of his horse. It was almost ritualistic in a way, and often a good means to restore his peace of mind. But when that which had stirred his soul was his sister, nothing but time would soothe the ache that seemed to settle in his very bones. This night was no different, and as he swung a leg over Banning's back he felt tired and old.

They set off over the cobblestoned courtyard at a brisk walk, the clacking of hooves echoing between the walls of mighty Glenbrèagha, for eons the home of elven royalty.

Nuada wanted nothing more than to urge Banning into a fierce gallop and lose himself in the elation of speed, but it was dark, and though the light of the full moon was quite enough for elven eyes to see clearly, the same could not be said about those of his steed.

In any case it was distance that he truly craved more than anything else, to ease the pressure of Nuala's everpresence, and he could feel the connection diluting as he meandered through the woods for many hours, Banning tireless under him.

As the first rays of sunlight were starting to caress the canopy with their golden fingers, prince and horse arrived at a garbling brook that crossed their path. Nuada decided to take it as a sign that it was time for rest. He took bridle and saddle off Banning and set the stallion free, trusting in his friend not to stray too far.

On a whim he relieved himself of his clothing and went to the brook to wash. The day was warm, late spring about to bloom into full summer, and the cold water felt good. It reached him to the knees where it was deepest, and he bent down to splash it over the rest of his body.

Then he got out, shaking himself like a dog.

Banning was trotting around in playful circles with his neck craned and a look in his eyes that said "Join me!" and with a liberated laugh Nuada did. Man and horse ran together, weaving a complicated pattern between the trees until Nuada fell down exhausted besides his discarded clothing. Banning snorted, as if in contempt for the prince's poor stamina, but then turned to grazing peacefully. Nuada let his mind drift, feeling the freedom of almost total separation from his sister. If he bent his will to it, he could shield himself off almost completely. It hurt, yes, but it was a _good_ pain.

At last truly alone, he fell asleep.

* * *

In his dream there was no hesitation, no shame. Still he despaired, for he knew it was not real. When she came into his arms he could feel her soft flesh, but no echo of his touch resonated from her, and she could have been anyone. It was not his Nuala.

He tried to end the dream, but he was deep within it and the silky touches of the illusion of his twin was, though but a shadow of what it should have been, a thrilling sensation that was hard to resist. Betrayed by his own desire he sorrowfully worshipped this idol of his goddess, this pale incarnation.

He cupped her breasts in his hands, stroking over velvety nipples with coarse thumbs, shivering as they hardened. He took one of them, firm as a ripe berry, in his mouth and flicked over the very tip with his tongue. Her groan of pleasure, however, seemed flat without the rich undercurrents of emotion he expected.

The dream spectre could offer no release, and he pushed her away with an agonized scream, consumed by unfulfilled desire. She fell sprawling to the ground, and instinctive reactions made him reach down an apologetic hand to help her up. Once more he touched the hollow shell masquerading as his sister, and suddenly the world exploded.

* * *

Nuada erupted from the dream with a yell. He was in agony! His first instinct was that something had happened to his sister, that she was in danger. Their link was for some reason wide open, and through it pulsed a steady rhythm of pain. He had to go to her!

He staggered to his feat, trying to clear his head. He could feel sheets sliding against his skin, as if he was writhing in bed. No, that was her, _she _was writhing. In pain… no, not pain. Pleasure.

He groaned, once again paying heed to the straining pleasure pain in his own groin.

But of course. His foolish dreaming had ignited her body too, and she was trying to ignore it.

He tried to focus on the nuances of the feelings, but it was almost impossible through the haze of lust that kept ricocheting back and forth through their link, growing stronger every moment.

She was ashamed, so very ashamed and disgusted. She felt violated, and perhaps rightly so, but oh, the force of her desire! Surely this could not just be a reaction to his own sentiments… could it? Was none of it hers then? And would it be so very wrong to…

_Yes! Don't you dare, brother!_

_As you wish._

He went over to the brook and doused his yearning body in the water. It's chill abruptly put out the flames racing through his veins, and he could feel her relief. At least for the few seconds it took for her to realise that her own sex was still swollen and aching.

_What is this madness?_

He smiled fiercely. _My madness, beloved._

He got out of the water and sat down to wait. Soon he was dry, warm, and hard. This time he would not deny his feelings.

As he pleasured himself, she was pulled back into the whirlpool with him, but he couldn't follow through with his intentions. The weight of her grief was too much.

_Sister, forgive me... I can't… I won't do this to you._

He rose to once more put out the fire, when his senses were hit by the most incredible, improbable sensation. She touched herself! She was still in pain, but there was a resignation to it now as she assailed his senses with the white hot pleasure that shot through them both as she carefully rubbed that mysterious knob hidden beneath the golden curls between her legs.

_Be at peace brother._

He went down on all fours, helplessly spending himself on the soil as they both reached a despairing climax.

"Oh my sister, my love," he whispered, clutching at dead leaves and forest debris, "what will become of us?"


End file.
